Charlie took it and handed it on to Sophy. She received the folded slip, unfolded and straightened it, then turned it around and, leaning forward, held it where Blackwell could read it.
He did and huffed again. “Definitely prepared.” He shot a sharp glance at Martin.
One of the others had gone to the door to the outer office and returned with an ink pot and two pens. The ink pot was set on the table beside Blackwell, along with the pens. Still perusing the documents, Martin rounded the table and walked toward Blackwell. “These all seem in order.”
With the attitude of one stifling a sigh—one of surrender—Blackwell held out a hand. “Let me look them over.”
Martin handed the documents to Blackwell, then picked up one of the pens.
He waited with unrufflable patience while Blackwell examined the documents, then after a quick glance at the bank draft Sophy was still holding, Blackwell grunted, picked up the other pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed the documents, one after the other.
As he did, he pushed each along the table to Martin, who duly dipped the pen he held and signed as well.
When the last of the sale agreements was signed, Martin looked at Blackwell, then glanced at Sophy and nodded.
She offered Blackwell the bank draft.
He reached across the table and took it, then nodded to her. “Miss Carmichael. I can’t say it’s been any sort of pleasure doing business with you.” He looked at Martin. “With the pair of you.” Blackwell tucked the bank draft into his coat pocket, then rose. “This has, however, been… How do they put it? An experience to learn from.”
He nodded to Martin with a degree of respect he’d shown to no one else.
Then for the second time since he’d walked in, Blackwell allowed his lips to fractionally curve. He glanced around at the assembled denizens of Sheffield and patted the pocket containing the bank draft. “I daresay there are other towns that will prove more salubrious to my health.”
With that, he half bowed, then turned toward the office. Steadily and unhurriedly, he walked to the door, opened it, and left.
The door closed behind him, yet everyone waited as they were, unsure.
Two seconds later, the door opened, and a grinning Harvey looked in. “He’s gone.”
The exhalation of relief that swept the room was intense and audible, more so given how many were there.
“We did it!” Sophy beamed at Martin, and when he grinned at her, she pushed Charlie out of the way and rushed around the table.
Expressions of relief and joy erupted on all sides. Men clapped each other on the back, and many now felt free to voice their worst fears and their delight that all had been resolved so neatly. Congratulations rained down on Martin’s head. His hand was wrung, his shoulders thumped, but the best reward of all was Sophy flinging herself into his arms, hauling his face to hers, and kissing him soundly.
“We did it!” She bounced in his arms.
Smiling fit to burst, Martin caught her up and swung her around. He set her on her feet and, beaming himself, looked into her eyes. “We did. He’s gone, and thank all the angels, he’s far too clever to even think of coming back.”
CHAPTER17
Sophy’s grandmother, encouraged and assisted by several of her peers, insisted on hosting a celebratory dinner in St. James’ Street that evening.
Most of those who had been present in the Carmichael Steelworks’ boardroom attended, happy to eat, drink, and merrily toast their seeing off of a threat the majority had only learned of the previous day. Those more deeply in the know were significantly more relieved.
Martin found himself under siege from both the hostesses, who had learned of what they termed his “conquest of Sophy” and had seized on the likelihood that he would, therefore, continue to grace their circles, and the businessmen, who had realized a newcomer had moved onto their patch and now possessed a significant landholding. All wanted to welcome him and assure him of their interest in his future in Sheffield.
John Brown and Tom Vickers finally managed to extract Martin from the adoring throng.
“So,” Vickers asked, coming straight to the point, “what are your intentions regarding Carmichael Steelworks?” He arched a brow, then Sophy came up to take Martin’s arm, and Vickers smiled at her. “Sophy, my dear, I was about to ask your intended whether he planned on taking a position in the business.”
Smiling as well, Martin slanted a questioning glance at Sophy and received a smug smile and an encouraging nod in reply. He returned his gaze to Vickers. “Not as such. I have several other businesses that claim my time, and in my view, Carmichael Steelworks is already in sound and highly capable hands.”
John Brown chuckled. “A wise decision. But I wanted to ask whether you had any plans for the land you’ve just acquired. I believe most of it is vacant or derelict, and in that area, that leaves the way open for building almost anything.”
Martin glanced at Sophy. They hadn’t had much time to discuss the possibilities, but buoyed on success, on the return journey from the steelworks, they’d excitedly exchanged a few thoughts. “Nothing’s been decided, of course, but”—he looked at Brown and the equally curious Vickers—“one of the ideas Sophy and I are considering is to use part of the site for an adjacent factory—an expansion of sorts—to work on further developing specialist alloys with an initial focus on making steel safes.”
Both men were interested in hearing more of that, and the exchange of ideas drew all four deeper into the sort of technical discussion that kept all others at bay.
